Tokyo
by starfreak23
Summary: Hanzo Shimada has lived for 10 years after the worst decision of his life. Every year on the anniversary of his brother's death, he travels back to his home villiage of Hanamura to pay tribute and ponder his regrets. Set the night before the Dragons short, this is a look into Hanzo's head as he thinks of where things went wrong.


**A/N: **This fic actually started off as a thought that popped into my head while being shown "Tokyo" by RM, but I didn't actually start writing it until I was having a panic attack and needed to calm down.

Thank you for reading!

Tokyo's club district always glowed in bright greens and pinks at night, burning neon making the scent of alcohol and depravity somewhat sweeter and all the while prevalent. The club district was an area of any city that Shimada Hanzo rarely found himself in without the promise of some sort of contract. No, tonight he sat on a rooftop completely of his own volition, his eyes burning from the excess light beneath him as he watched the crowd of pedestrians beneath some random club called "Hysteria".

The soft breeze of a hot May cooling the concrete that had been pelted with sun during daylight hours, he knelt like a gargoyle at the edge of the building, looking down.

He was here for a reason, though he was loathe to admit it. He had a purpose to coming this close to Hanauma where otherwise he would never dream of it. He had a duty to perform, bound by his honor to return at the same time every year.

It was his fault, in retrospect. He had come to terms with that over the years, there had been no one to blame but himself.

He looked down at the world below, his chest heavy as if pulling him forward over the edge of the ledge. Self-loathing always whispered to him here, tendrils words curling around his chest and waist, pulling him forwards and attempting to give him an out. An end.

He shook them off almost violently. He squared his shoulders and felt his spine pop with the action- _Your posture has become atrocious_\- and he swallowed thickly, bearing his teeth and growling as if to show dominance over the voice.

"I've become such a beast" He thought to himself, feeling foolish and softly chiding himself for being so sensitive to intrusive thoughts. They were common now, why should they matter?

He coughed to clear his head and looked down at the streets below, watching two men walking side by side. One is laughing, the other is mildly bemused, having conversation as they ventured onto the balcony of "Hysteria", which happened to be the highbrow nightclub they had chosen to quench their thirsts.

The first man felt familiar, bright and smiling and pure- Bright pink hair, a small nose, eyes that seemed to light the world on fire, and a smile that could have been seen for miles. He was bouncy, jumping around the larger man as if to try to tempt him to dance. He even shoved the larger man when he gave a laughing, but serious refusal. The pink man wore a suit that aesthetically fit him perfectly, a white shirt, pink tie, black jacket and pants with matching pink accents. Suave, but still rebellious enough to catch the attention of any young needy thing, such as the two young women- possibly twins, or just good friends from some European country or another- that had begun to gravitate towards him to make a move.

The larger man watched their hunt with bemused but annoyed eyes. He wore a black on black suit with a thin white tie, his hair was black and longer than Pinkie's spiky updo, tied back with a simple band. Both men were clean shaven, but the larger man looked recently shaved, whereas Pinkie barely looked old enough to shave. The larger man was approached by one of the woman, but waved her off with a polite smile. Over the course of ten minutes, and encouragement from Pinkie, he was forced to do this twice more, probably either jokingly telling his companion that he was not in the mood, or that he was not worth the attention.

The larger man ushered them back inside to continue partying and flagged down a waiter for a glass of something. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, letting the smoke escape from his nostrils like a dragon in a calming breath. The man looked up to the stars and looked towards Hanzo's perch. If he had less confidence in his stealth capabilities, he would fear being spotted, but the man looked through him in thought and Hanzo simply kept watching.

It was familiar, almost calming. He had been that loser at clubs, being dragged along by his little brother to drink and smoke, doing his utmost to keep Genji from doing things he'd regret all while doing his best to stay away from the commotion. Neon had always been too harsh for his eyes, but Gods- he would take the burning sting and queasy stomach over anything he had right now.

Genji had laughed and danced around him, wondering aloud about cocaine and something called "Orphan Tears," openly joking that they share a woman for the sole purpose of watching Hanzo reel and harden with an "Absolutely NOT."

"Oh, c'mon Anija, I'm joking. I'm weird but that's a little TOO weird." A wink always followed, and then a laugh.

Genji's voice had sounded like bells as a child, always high and twinkling, he had been teased for its feminine quality, but like any confident child he paid it no mind. When he got older and his voice dropped, it had kept the light airy quality, losing the shrill ringing overtone and trading it for a tenor murmur that harmonized with the lightness perfectly. He sounded like a pop star, which matched his softer features, his mother's genetics giving him that mischievous and young look that beings of all genders and races seemed to go mad for.

Hanzo on the other had catered to the opposite side of the spectrum. He was taller, broad shouldered with a thinner waist, every part of his body was muscular rather than thin- a fact that for a portion of his life he had resented. Even in this day and age, thinness was seen as a virtue, he had been self-conscious of his build even as he was encouraged to add to it at home. Over time, things had gotten better, he filled in his body with knowledge, etiquette, wit, and skill.

His voice had dropped further than Genji's, similar to the deep rumbling tones of their father, the same man his face reflected. His voice was smooth and low, and it was one of his greatest assets. Walking up behind someone and speaking in his low murmur usually sent chills up a target's spine, and the conversation he received afterwards was jarred just enough to be truthful, if not smitten as well.

He wondered if the light gravel that had developed could be attributed to age or his short stint with a smoking habit. He wondered this as he pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and considered lighting it, watching the man below smoke and think and sigh.

"Oh, woe is you, your life is such shit" He spat softly at the man, his mother tongue almost stumbling from his lips from misuse and time.

Since he was not necessarily stalking a target, he felt no qualms with lighting up, sliding into a sitting position and leaning his back on a higher part of the ledge, looking down. Mother would have killed him for being so reckless.

The thought brought back half a smile, if only for a heartbeat.

Part of him wondered if he really missed those nights or if he could blame it on a sense of naskashi- taking what he knew and making the memories sweeter for him in his sadness.

He knew he missed his brother, there was never any doubt in his mind. As annoying as the little shit had been able to get, he had been one of the only lights Hanzo had had in his life, especially after they lost their mother.

Genji had been 17, Hanzo had been 20. It intersected perfectly with when things started spiraling downhill. It had probably aggravated most of their problems.

"_Stop. There is no one to blame besides yourself."_

He sighed and took a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke burned his lungs- he hadn't indulged in a long time. He reached over while he had the cigarette in his mouth to find one of the two cartons of Sake he'd purchased from a vending machine closer to the outskirts of the city. Tomorrow he needed to be sober, so tonight he would allow himself to be impaired.

There was once a point where Genji would have encouraged such behavior. Perhaps he would have offered opioids as well, but Hanzo had always hoped his brother would have changed if he'd been alive these past 10 years.

"_If you had been a better older brother, you would have found him help rather than allowing the elders to disown him" _A voice whispered in the back of his head. This was neither of the dragons, they tended to leave him to his devices when he was in his state of "moping" as they tended to accuse him of.

This voice sounded like a bitter combination of both his parents, his father, who had favored Genji in the way of freedom, and his mother, who had insisted he protect the boy at all costs.

No matter who it might have sounded like, he knew the voice was his own. He had come to terms with his own failure long ago, unable to find blame in anyone but himself. He could have disobeyed the clan elders. He could have warned his brother. He could have helped Genji escape.

He could have-

He could-

He took a long sip of sake, relaxing as the rice spirits burned his esophagus and pooled to heat his stomach. It was May, he did not need to excess warmth, but perhaps if he drank enough he could burn the evil left inside him from his sins- exorcise his demons and make things right.

No. Things would not be made right until he could atone. Until there was a way he could trade his own life for Genji's there would be no way to make things right.

Another long drag from his cigarette. He looked down at the balcony now to see the larger of the two men pacing, either anxiously or angrily he could not tell. After a moment he disappeared inside and reappeared, dragging his companion to the balcony, letting the door closed before he began to talk.

A direct parallel to his own life, he growled in realization. Why is it that he could see all the mistakes he had made from an outsider's perspective, but not when he was within the situation?

He watched the taller man seethe quietly at the smaller man, talking with hands at his sides while the smaller man gestured wildly as he spoke. After a moment the younger man shouted, loud enough for Hanzo to hear, but too drowned out for him to understand. The larger man seemed to have enough, throwing his hands up and spitting a curse before stomping out his cigarette and disappearing inside, probably to leave the venue. The smaller man shouted after him angrily but did not follow, kicking a garbage can in frustration and taking a few moments to breathe before walking inside.

He may have wiped an eye before he steeled himself, but the thought burned too much for Hanzo to consider.

Those memories were worth little more than dirt now, he mused to himself as he flicked the end of his cigarette and watched the specs of ash float away in the light breeze, or fall with the force of gravity. Whether Genji had cried or not, did it matter now?

The man his father raised hissed a no. None of it mattered. The boy had disobeyed the clan and had made a mockery of the family name. He had hated Hanzo towards the end, and Hanzo had come to hate him, why did it matter now? The boy was dead and so was his memory.

The glint of swords flashed behind his eyes as he blinked and the sound of metal scraping on metal was so vivid he physically winced, almost falling over.

The man his mother raised stood strong and clenched his jaw. Yes, it mattered. It would always matter. Genji had not only been his flesh and blood, but his best friend. For some time, his only friend. His last friend. There was no true hatred in their relationship, merely magnified annoyances and raw frustrations. Pressure had built and built and Hanzo had been too weak not to cave.

The Sake carton was empty. He reached over to open the second one. When had he finished a whole carton of Sake? He couldn't remember where the rest had gone, but he was thankful for the second carton. Perhaps it had spilled when he was thinking?

Would he have been able to change things? If he was given the chance to live it over again, would he fall into rage once more? Unleash the dragon within and let blood blind him? Or would he be able to stop the actions in their tracks, convince Genji once and for all to change, or at least flee.

No- There was that word again. Change. If he had been a good enough older brother, he wouldn't have asked Genji to change for anyone but himself. He would have accepted his brother.

He had been scared. He had been far too scared of the clan, far too blinded by pride to realize he had been scared, and far too influenced by the greed of others to realize he was headed down the wrong path.

Were those the only emotions he could reach when thinking of home now? Regret? Anger?

Fear?

He remembered things from further back, listening to his mother read to them while he stared out at the moon's rays dancing across the leaves of the sakura trees in fall, vibrating with excitement that there was only a few more months until they bloomed again. Genji crawling across the bed and climbing on top of him to ask what he had been looking at. This was way back when he and Genji had shared a room, beds pushed up to opposite walls, so they would have space to play.

Hanzo laughed slightly, in retrospect, it had been an absolute nightmare for their parents. Genji's ideas and energy paired with Hanzo's tactical skill and- inventive contributions had led to chaos around the castle on any given day.

Like the time they both ended up with no eyebrows.

But that was before the fear had set in. The fear of disappointing his father and the clan elders. The fear of his brother seeing him weak. The fear of failure.

It had driven him to isolate himself, requesting his own room so that Genji would not see him bruised from his training every night. He had quieted down with age, learning what the elders had called perfect obedience.

What his brother had called kissing ass.

He had been so blinded by fear, disguised as honor and masked with pride that he hadn't realized Genji had the right idea, just the wrong way of going about it.

He missed the home of his childhood, he thought as he closed his eyes. Not the castle, not the sakura trees and the dojo and the objects that resided in Hanamura. More so the memories of Hanamura that echoed somewhere in the back of his brain.

That he could only see when he was drunk.

Winning a round of hide and seek by climbing into the bell and getting a beating for it afterwards. Smiling up at his mother and father proudly as He had Genji paraded their newest trophy from their adventures- a lack of eyebrows. Thunderstorms that calmed him but terrified his brother, ending being woken by his brother in his bed and complaining that Hanzo move because "Anija I gotta pee!"

Memories made him homesick. Memories with Genji all the more so.

But those things were over.

It had been 10 long and hard years since he had last seen his brother's face, bloodied and angry and then scared- Just like a child. That same child who had crawled into his bed to escape the thunderstorms.

Hanzo slid off the ledge and to a safer spot on the roof, knowing he was becoming untrustworthy with his balance, as begrudging as he was to admit. He grabbed the soft cello case he used as a makeshift carrier for stormbow and his clothing, sliding it closer to pick it up and make his way back the way he had come. He grabbed the rest of his sake, thought about drinking it, then thought better of it. He stashed the carton away and made his way to the ground.

If he had cared about himself, he would have stayed in one spot, knowing his balance was off. Parkour was not the greatest of ideas when one could feel themselves begin to stumble, but he knew his own skill level, and knew he was not as incapacitated as he might have appeared. Either way, he could have cared less if he died.

It would be one less villain in the world if he did.

He ran across the rooftops of buildings, jumping downwards (which was thankfully far easier than climbing or jumping up) to the building with a fire escape, so that he could scurry down into the ally and slip into the dark spots of the city.

He was travelling towards Hanamura as slowly as he possibly could over the past week, but tonight he would have to finally make camp right outside of the city. He probably had just enough time to sleep off whatever hangover he woke up with and scarf down some food before he made his way into the castle for his memorial.

He had booked a room in a sleazy motel in the neighboring town, just out of reach of the Shimada-gumi, just far enough to be safe but just close enough not to make the journey hazardous.

He would have to find a place for the Cello case when travelling to the castle. He would probably stash everything besides essentials in a bus terminal locker or something similar for the journey into Shimada territory. Once there was no escaping the hand of the Shimada Clan, but, since his brother's death and his own disappearance, the realm of the clan's influence had become smaller and smaller.

For now, he turned his coat collar up, wearing it more for anonymity rather than warmth, and headed towards a train terminal for the journey to his motel.

After 10 years of being away from home, it was rare to ever see a spark of recollection in anyone's eyes as he walked through terminals, though it had been a rare occurrence in the first place. His face had changed, he looked identical to his father, but 10 years older than he should, which gave him a bit of an advantage.

He'd considered changing his look to appear younger- but couldn't bring himself too. Whether that was vanity, mourning, or self-loathing speaking, he couldn't tell.

He managed a smile for the woman at the teller booth (the electronic tellers had cameras he did not trust) and winked as he took the slip, earning a giggle and a trusting wave.

Punch the ticket, slide through the turnstile, slip into an empty carriage on the train.

Simple. Easy. Routine.

His heart rate picked up as it always did on the eve of his brother's death, but he could force himself to ignore the rising panic. It had been 10 years. He accomplished this task every year. "I will do what I must" He murmured gruffly to himself as he slid into the carriage and found a seat closer to the rear.

He settled into the chair and took a deep calming breath, keeping his luggage within arm's reach in case of an emergency. Perhaps he would allow himself to sleep until the train arrived at his station, since he always woke up just enough to register the stop announcements. He relaxed into the stiff cushions, chin to chest and arms crossed over his chest.

In another life, he would not have to be hiding from anyone, and he would not be quelling anxiousness as he rode closer to home. In another life, he had his brother. Where or how, he knew not, but they would be at peace.

He smiled to himself just slightly. Maybe in this alternate universe, Genji would never have that atrocious shade of green as a hair color.

On second thought? He should keep it. It made Genji… Genji.

And that's what Hanzo missed.

His brother as he was, not as who he could have been.

**A/N: **Naskashi – Fond nostalgia

This might end up being a 3 part series, detailing the events of "Dragons" from the point of view of each brother. Would you all want to see that? Tell me in the comments!


End file.
